Friendship, Courage, and Coffee
by Serris
Summary: A tale of friendship, courage, and coffee from the view of 5th Officer Harold Lowe...
1. Part 1

**_Friendship, Courage and Coffee_**  
The Titanic Trio  
Written by: Stephanie Watson  
Edited by: Chris Hodge and Karen Walker  
1998  
Revised: 2001  
  
  
_Part 1:  
  
  
"Friendship needs no lavish praises,  
"Polished face, no winning wiles,  
"Friendship dons no surface smiles,  
"Friendship follows Nature's dictation,  
"Shuns the blandishments of art,  
"Boldly severs truth from fiction,  
"Speaks the language of the heart."  
  
  
_On a typical day, there was almost always something that needed to be done. Whether it was tending to passengers, working out position and speed, or simply making sure everything on a vast ship was in working order, there was nearly always something to keep the men in the business of sailing occupied.  
  
Maybe that's why Fifth Officer Harold Lowe of the _RMS Titanic_ preferred night time. The worst duty then was taking rounds, and that wasn't bad at all. There was never really any trouble at two or three in the morning, and no one minded if he would stop and lean on the railing for a few minutes, allowing his mind to clear from the day before and prepare for the day ahead. So, on this fine and clear night, he walked along in silence, occasionally shining his light towards something, but never finding anything. There were  only two passengers out on deck, both of them somewhat drunk and incredibly pleasant. At this hour, Lowe could actually enjoy a bit of solitude and quiet.  
  
Eventually he came to a spot on the railing and looked out over the water. No moon was out to diminish the stars, and he could easily name many of the constellations out there, if nothing more than for navigational purposes. That was always part of what he enjoyed.  Navigating by the heavens, plotting a course by the lights that twinkled long before he was born and would shine long after he was gone.  
  
Admittedly, this was his first run on the North Atlantic, and his first time serving with any of the other deck officers, but after the trials in Belfast, and the trip from Southampton, the men had settled into routine well and before long had a camaraderie that made working more pleasant.  
  
His thoughts wandered back to the Bridge, though he himself didn't move. Like himself, most officers enjoyed those hours, despite the natural urge to go to bed. Right then, Third Officer Pitman was probably walking the other side of the ship, and Chief Officer Wilde was on the Bridge. Like all of the others, Lowe regretted that Blair didn't get to sail on that voyage as Second Officer, for he had liked him in their time in Belfast and en route to Southampton, but while there was a bit of hostility towards Wilde for displacing him, Lowe liked the Chief. He wasn't nearly as hard-nosed or cool as the former First Officer and now Second Officer Lightoller had not-quite-but-nearly warned everyone. Instead, despite the automatic resentment Lightoller had tried to instill in them, Lowe liked Wilde almost immediately. He was very quiet, and sincere. On the day before, when Lowe had been harassed by passengers and crew alike, Wilde had been nothing but nice to him. When the senior officer got off shift, he brought Lowe back some tea... Harold didn't know what he appreciated more; the tea, or the pat on the back and praise. Either way, it only confused him more to everyone's distance from that man.  
  
Like everyone else on the ship, Harold certainly liked First Officer Murdoch. The wiry Scot had an easy manner and a great sense of humor. It was hard not to like him... Harold didn't really think anyone could. He was quick to joke or quip, and loved to talk about his wife at home. He, like Wilde, wasn't a dictator when it came to the junior officers, but treated them as though they were almost equals.  
  
But where Wilde and Murdoch both seemed so agreeable, Lightoller seemed an expert at being aloof. He was a fabulous officer and nothing but civil. But he was so formal that it was difficult to talk to the man. Lowe smiled slightly... it wasn't Wilde that was cool, it was Lightoller. Even his eyes looked like ice at times.  
  
Harold sighed very quietly and started back towards the Bridge. Pitman was easy enough to work with, and Harold didn't spend a whole lot of time with Mr. Boxhall, the Fourth Officer, so it made for a decent crew of an incredible ship.  
  
Lowe decided he liked Sixth Officer James Moody the most, though. They were the junior most officers on that voyage, and only a few years apart in age. On opposite shifts from each other, they didn't have a whole lot of time to talk, however when Lowe wasn't sleeping but off duty, he could usually be found taking the rounds with Moody. In only a day, they became fast friends, although different in more ways than Lowe could even count. Moody had gone to a Naval School, had the strictest of training, a family that supported him through all of it, and was thought to be a fellow who would raise through the ranks quickly. Lowe had no formal training, no real home besides the ocean, and was often said to be too rebellious to ever make a good officer. And such was true... but where Lowe didn't have the makings of a good officer, he was a natural leader.  
  
Despite everything, though, they were quick to make friends. Even on the first evening in Ireland, when Lowe tagged along on rounds, they dropped the formal titles of "sir" and "Mr." and turned to the more personal James and Harold. On the second day, it was down to Jimmy and Harry. Such was their friendship, and Lowe was certain that no matter what ship they ended up on eventually, they would remain friends long after this voyage.  
  
  
  
Finally he walked back onto the Bridge. Pitman had made it back, and Wilde was pacing along, somewhere not on the ship but far out. He looked up when Harold walked in and gave him one of his rare smiles, then his face fell somber again and he continued his pacing. Lowe nodded to both of them, and then went just outside and leaned on the railing, waiting to get off shift in another hour or so. The prospect of sleep weighed heavy on his mind, and he looked forward to what few hours he would be able to snatch before he was due back on the Bridge. If nothing else, the shift rotation was the hardest part... sometimes four hours on, four hours off, and then the two hour, alternating dog watch. Either way, not too long ago his body had learned that it was time to sleep the second he was in bed, and there were more times than Lowe could remember where he had slept so deeply that someone had to wake him. He yawned, his breath turning to steam in the crystal clear and cold air. Soon enough he would be able to lay down and rest... not nearly long enough, but that was the way it was. He loved sailing, and such prices were paid.  
  
As an after thought, he went to Wireless room under the pretense of looking for ice warnings. He knew that Wilde understood the true nature of the trip, but neither man made any move to disrupt the given story. So Lowe went back through the chart room and to the Wireless room. Harold Bride, the junior operator, was on duty that evening, and Lowe leaned against the table. Bride smiled up at him and took the headphones off. "Hello, sir."  
  
Lowe smiled back, glad for a friendly voice. "Hullo, Sparks. Anything interesting out there?"  
  
"Not much," Bride answered, leaning back in his chair aways and listening with one ear for anything important enough to catch his attention. "Some still sending personal messages, but nearly no one has a twenty-four hour watch."  
  
"Bored?"  
  
"Very."  
  
Lowe leaned down and Bride handed him the headphones. He listened for a moment, able to understand it for the most part except for an abbreviation or two, known only to those who worked the key. He caught someone faintly transmitting a personal message but could only catch parts of it. Eventually he handed the phones back to Bride, who grinned. "Exciting, isn't it?"  
  
Lowe laughed, "Absolutely thrilling, old man. Where's Jack? Off to bed?"  
  
Bride nodded. "Turned in a while ago to read. Last time I looked, he had fallen asleep with a book."  
  
"I suppose all of those rich fools want a ton of things sent," Lowe mused, stifling a yawn.  
  
"Yes... we get quite a few of those. Good part is, we know who's going where and when."  
  
"I suppose that would only come in handy if you're planning on hijacking them," Lowe chuckled. "Give me a call when you do... we can all be rich."  
  
Bride just smiled and shook his head. "Sure, and end up in jail because of it."  
  
"True enough, old man. Can't say that being an officer is always that different from indentured servitude, but it would sure beat prison life."  
  
"Admit it, you love it."  
  
"Absolutely," Lowe said, without hesitation. "Sometimes it can be the greatest feeling in the world."  
  
"I believe it."  
  
Lowe stood up from where he had leaned and yawned again. It was definitely time for some sleep... "Well, I have to get back to the Bridge. They might think you brutalized me or something back here."  
  
Bride laughed, "Suuuuure. Sleep well, Harry."  
  
"Night, Sparks," Lowe replied, and walked back out to the Bridge. He had a little time left, so he engaged Pitman in quiet conversation while Wilde leaned on the railing outside. Time seemed to drag a bit, but before too long, Lowe was able to leave and go to bed. He trudged off of the Bridge, not surprised to notice the dim light slowly... very slowly, starting to creep into the eastern sky. On the ocean, dawn was much longer with nothing to obstruct the view. But he had no urge to wait up for that, and went to his quarters -- Jimmy had affectionately referred to them as closets -- and tossed his greatcoat on his chair. Once he was out of uniform and into his bed clothes, he fell onto his bed, and was almost instantly asleep.  
  
  
  
"Come on, Harry, wake up. It's time to work!" Moody pushed Lowe insistently.  
  
Lowe didn't want to wake up, but he reluctantly opened one eye and looked at his friend. "Lemme alone, Jimmy. I just went to bed a minute ago..."  
  
"Try four hours. Now come on! You're going to be late if you don't," Moody pointed out, grabbing one of Lowe's uniforms and tossing it at him. "I shouldn't even be here, but I knew you weren't going to wake up on your own."  
  
Lowe finally rolled out of bed, hitting the floor with a thud, and picking himself up. "Owww..."  
  
Moody hauled him up the rest of the way. "Hurry up. I can't leave until I know you're not going to crawl back into bed."  
  
Lowe gave him a look of annoyance. "Thanks." He quickly dressed and followed Moody out onto the Bridge, still tying his tie and buttoning his uniform jacket. Lightoller was on duty, and Wilde was a good distance from him waiting to begin inspection parade. Both of the juniors touched their hats in greeting and were greeted back. Lightoller made a point to give Lowe's slightly disheveled appearance a faint scowl, but his voice was pleasant as he greeted them. Wilde looked worn down tired, and Lowe felt a pang of pity for the older man. He hadn't had an easy voyage so far. But duties needed done, and Lowe's first task of the day was taking the rounds. Moody went with him. "Well, at least the sun's out," he yawned.  
  
Lowe nodded, still not quite awake yet. It was just too damned early considering he had only just gone to bed a few hours before. He rubbed his eyes after he made sure no one was watching. "I really want to go back to bed."  
  
"Well, not a chance there, old chap," Moody said. "I wish they would put us on an eight hour rotation. It would be a lot easier."  
  
"What, and miss the chance to turn us into 'men'?" Lowe snickered, "Sadistic, sometimes, huh?"  
  
"Well," Moody teased, "I can see why they might try that with you... after all, you are 'Baby-Face Lowe'."  
  
"Hey," Lowe growled, with no real anger in his voice. "I hate it when people call me that." He was a baby-face, and no one forgot to remind him of it. He looked as young as Moody, even though he was twenty-nine, and many old women went out of their way to treat him like a boy.  It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been at sea for half of his life, living one long adventure, or if he really was less experienced.  But in his own mind, he knew he was anything but a child, and it served as an annoyance.  
  
"Well, it could be worse," Moody pressed. "They could say you look like a girl."  
  
"Oh Lord," Lowe laughed. He couldn't help it... that was a well-made and very deadpan point. Moody certainly didn't live up to his name. When not on duty, he was as good humored as they came, and very rarely seemed to be bothered by anything. When Blair had been reassigned, Moody was a little upset, but already liked Wilde as well. Other than that, he was happy with his job, quick to tell a good joke, and well liked by all who knew him.  
  
"See? Things could be much worse."  
  
"I guess you're right," Lowe agreed, still chuckling a little bit.  
  
Moody made a turn for a slightly more serious side. "Do you think we'll both still be on this ship after this crossing?"  
  
"Not sure," Lowe answered, squinting at the bright sunlight. "The Captain's retiring and the Chief's probably going to get his own command. We might end up promoted, eh?"  
  
Moody grinned. "Captain Lowe and Chief Moody."  
  
Lowe laughed again, finally starting to feel awake, "I like that! It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"  
  
"Well, I'd like it if it were the other way around, but you are a rank above me."  
  
"Well, Jimmy, if you want it that bad, I'll be Chief," Lowe conceded. "So long as I get a bigger room and better pay."  
  
"I'm sure it can be arranged," Moody said, putting on an air of high class dignity as they meandered slowly along the First Class Promenade. There were a few passengers out, mostly men, and they nodded to the two young officers.  
  
"Awful polite, aren't they?" Lowe whispered through his polite smile, "Especially when they're barely awake."  
  
"Well, I know they put you through hell the other day," Moody replied, just as quietly. "What was the one woman's problem again?"  
  
"Her bath tub wouldn't work properly," Lowe answered, "and she refused to talk to a steward... said it was beneath her. I was the one who got to listen to her."  
  
"Poor chap," Moody said, in honest and sincere sympathy. No one liked putting up with the snobbish passengers. Least of all officers who had better things to do with their time.  
  
Lowe nodded slightly. "Ah well, all part of the job, I suppose. And onto another day of this. Hopefully nothing else will go wrong, or I'll end up having to deal with it."  
  
"Or me," Moody said. "It's a wonderful ship, but I think I'd rather not be the lowest ranking officer here."  
  
"I gave up Third Officer on Belgic to be here," Lowe commented, lightly. "Looks good to be an officer on one of these monsters."  
  
Moody smiled. "Yes... where it's an adventure finding your way around. I must have gotten lost twenty times on the 10th, trying to inventory and set for sail."  
  
"Awww... poor boy," Lowe joked. "We found him laying in the Cargo Bay starved to death. He must have lost his way."  
  
"Ha ha," Moody said, but grinned. "I'll just drive that fellow's Renault through the side of the ship."  
  
"And sink the lot of us, right?"  
  
"Didn't you here? This ship is 'unsinkable'," Moody mocked, tossing his head in an imitation of a reporter.  
  
"Oh yes, I had forgotten. Do forgive me." Lowe bit back a grin and imitated a first class woman. "I was rather concerned, you see. The coloring in my room is an entire shade too dark, and that gold leafing isn't actual gold."  
  
"Oh dear Lord... you must be joking. That's horrible. We shall have to write a letter to the line and insist upon getting our money back," Moody added.  
  
Lowe went through the gate to the Engineers Promenade. There were several people out there, some black from the grease and coal, and others just waking up. Most nodded in respect to them. "I like these chaps better. More honest, you know."  
  
Moody nodded in agreement. "Work for a living."  
  
One of the engineers caught this, and whispered to a stoker next to him, "I like this ship."  
  
"Me too. Cleaner," the stoker said, "and better food, too."  
  
Moody opened the gate to the Second Class Promenade and they continued the seemingly endless walk. Very few people were out; a couple of women and a few men wandering around. They were all polite also.  
  
"I should say that the Second Class are the most agreeable of passengers," Lowe commented quietly.  
  
Moody nodded, but didn't say anything.  
  
They walked a bit farther and Lowe took the peace and quiet to think about things. The roughest times were when he had no where to go... no ship. Countless times he had written to his parents, but never got a reply. After the fifteenth letter, he knew better than to expect one. That was just the way things were. He looked over at Moody. Lowe really didn't have a lot of close friends, and in a matter of only weeks he thought that James might have been the closest thing he had to a best friend. How odd life was sometimes... it was rare when two people could make friends that quickly, and when it happened, it was the kind of friendship; the real kind. The kind that lasted a lifetime if treated right.  
  
Moody noticed his look and gave him a smile. "Distant thoughts?"  
  
"You could say that," Lowe said, looking at the deck, and then ahead.  It took him a moment to add, "It's nice to have someone to talk to."  
  
"Yes, it is," Moody agreed. "Never have much of a chance to know your fellow officers when your at these ranks."  
  
"How true. And then, you have so little time on shore, that making anything more than good acquaintances is impossible."  
  
"Well, Harry, I guess we'll just have to stick together then, eh?" Moody said, in a gesture of openness that was incredibly rare with sailors, but not so rare among young men who had very else little to count on besides the friends they might make.  
  
"Yes, that we will," Lowe said, then tried to lighten the atmosphere, "After all, we are going to be the commanding officers of this ship, you know."  
  
"Good point, Captain Lowe."  
  
"Thank you, Chief Moody."  
  
  
  
After rounds they parted ways for awhile and met up again later. Moody was on duty, and Lowe brought him some tea and went for a cup of coffee in the Officer's Mess. About two hours later, he regretted that decision. Word had gotten around that the coffee was bad, but he had no idea it was bad enough to literally make him ill. He didn't even hear Moody come looking for him... just sat on the floor beside the toliet. James came in when no one answered the door. "Harry? Are you all right?"  
  
"Whatever you do, don't drink coffee in the Mess," Lowe spat, miserable.  
  
Moody chuckled, but he was worried. "Can you make it to bed, old man? You'll end up catching a chill on the floor."  
  
Lowe managed to stagger to his feet, queasy, and Moody took his arm and led him to bed. "Thanks, Jimmy," Lowe groaned, rolling onto his side. Why did he drink that coffee? Why hadn't he quit when he couldn't stand the first sip? The instant wake-up it provided wasn't worth the misery. He shook his head thinking, "Idiot. I'm an idiot."   
  
Moody covered him over, teasing slightly like a mother hen before saying, "I'm going to get the doctor, and I'll take your shift, all right?"  
  
"No... call the doc, but don't take my shift. You haven't slept yet."  
  
"We'll talk about it later," Moody said, smiling. He walked out, leaving Lowe to groan in bed for the short time it would take to track down Dr. O'Loughlin. Harold sighed; this would look really good to the senior officers. He could almost hear them on the Bridge, "Did you hear about 'Baby-Face'? He drank _The Coffee_." The thought was so absurd, though, that he couldn't help but smile, despite how miserable he was feeling. With a considerable effort, he dragged himself out of bed and dressed slowly for watch. Moody came back in with O'Loughlin, who promptly had him sit. "When did you start feeling like this?"  
  
Lowe turned a little red. "Right after I drank the coffee in the Officer's Mess."  
  
O'Loughlin tried not to laugh, though he nearly failed. "After it put Henry down on the 10th?"  
  
Lowe searched through his memory... who was Henry? Finally it hit upon him... Wilde. Henry Wilde. "It did?"  
  
"Yes... he was miserable for about an hour or two, then he was fine."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Moody just shook his head, trying to suppress his grin. Lowe gave him a look, but he was already feeling better, and the insanity of the whole situation struck him as silly. O'Loughlin left, and he looked at Moody. Finally James just started laughing, and Harold joined him a moment later.  
  
  
  
"You drank The Coffee?" Murdoch asked, choking on a sip of tea.  
  
Wilde was a few feet away with the log, and just broke down in laughter. Lowe blushed again ... he expected Murdoch to poke fun at him, but Wilde barely ever smiled and now he was laughing so hard he couldn't speak. Still, Harold had to admit that he was glad the Chief was having some fun, even if it was at his expense. He nodded. "Yes, sir. And I might add that I never will again."  
  
Murdoch leaned against the wall, laughing so hard that he was in tears. Wilde was still chuckling when he went and put the log back, and finally Will was able to speak, "Mr. Lowe, I expect things like that from Henry... Mr. Wilde, but from you?"  
  
Now it was Wilde's turn to blush. "Well, Mr. Murdoch, I'll try to forget the time that you smoked a cigar and was damn near green as grass.  I distinctly remember warning you that I had never heard the brand name before, and I distinctly remember you saying, 'It's tobacco, isn't it?  How bad can it be?'"  
  
"All right, all right." Murdoch threw his hands into the air, a gesture of good-natured defeat. "I surrender."  
  
"Good!" Wilde replied, holding back the smile from his face, but he couldn't hide it from his eyes.  
  
Lowe watched the exchange. He knew from rumor and intuition that they were friends but it rarely ever came out when they were on the Bridge. Still, it made the atmosphere all the more pleasant, and he took up his duties in a much better mood. Moody soon caught up, and they both talked about the weather, and the ships they had sailed on in the past. It got to a point where they would talk into subjects rather than over them.  
  
Finally Moody asked, "What happened between you and your parents?"  
  
Lowe studied his boots for a moment, then looked over at James. "Disagreements. My father wanted me to apprentice myself under a tradesman, I didn't want to, he insisted, and I ran away."  
  
"Where do you go?"  
  
Lowe didn't want to answer this. He didn't want to tell Moody that the ship was his home, and that he generally spent holidays on his own. He didn't want to make him worry, but he finally said, "Where ever I can, really. It isn't bad, though."  
  
Moody looked over at him. "If you don't have anywhere else to go, you could always spend Christmas and that with my family," he said.  
  
"Thank you," Lowe replied, touched by the gesture, "that means a lot."  
  
"Well, I have to offer it..." Moody grinned, trying to brighten the atmosphere from the serious cast it had taken. "You're the only person I know that puts up with me.  At least, the only one that doesn't say, 'James, you've told that joke a thousand times.  Shut up.'"  
  
"Oh, get on with you!" Lowe laughed, "You're downright good company compared to a lot of people I know."  
  
Moody just smiled, and they continued their rounds.  
  
  
  
Later on, the next day, Lowe took the rounds alone, and walked back to talk with Wilde. The Chief seemed even more somber than normal, and he finally gave into curiosity and sympathy. "Sir, is everything all right?"  
  
Wilde looked up, as though he was a little startled by the question. "Yes... thank you, Mr. Lowe."  
  
"You just seem a bit bothered by something, sir."  
  
Wilde's eyes tracked along the water, somewhere in thought that Lowe couldn't determine. Finally he said, "Maybe a little. But it's nothing to worry about."  
  
Lowe wasn't known for his tact, and just came out with it, "Is it Mr. Lightoller?"  
  
Wilde looked at him, a faint smile playing on his face. "I say, you are forward, aren't you?"  
  
Lowe nodded.  Most of the time that completely straightforward approach got him reprimanded, but he wasn't about to be anything more or less than he was.  And he was blunt.  
  
"Well," Wilde said, "it's not my place to say, so forgive me."  
  
That was all that needed to be said. Wilde was too professional to speak badly of a fellow officer, but the look on his face spoke for him. Lowe nodded and walked off. When Lightoller came on shift that evening, Lowe was nothing but pleasant. Moody was just preparing to go with him on the rounds, and Lowe walked up to Lightoller. "Sir?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Lowe?" Lightoller asked, not looking at him.  
  
"I thought you might like some coffee sir, so I brought you a cup." Lowe smiled, as innocently as possible.  He hoped that Lightoller hadn't caught up on the rumor, or if he had, didn't give it any thought at the moment.  
  
Lightoller seemed surprised as he took the cup, smiling a half-smile at Lowe. "Oh... thank you."  
  
Lowe grinned. "You're welcome, sir." Quickly, he walked off the Bridge with Moody. James nearly fell over laughing once they were out of earshot, and punched Lowe in the arm. "What are you doing?! You're going to get yourself fired!"  
  
"He took it," Lowe chuckled. "It's not my fault if he did."  
  
Moody just shook his head. "All right, Harry... I'll see you on the next coal steamer out."  
  
"And you can come with me."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Sure."  Lowe snickered, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked. "After all, Mr. Moody, we've ranks to climb and pay raises to get."  
  
"Coal to shovel, decks to swab, heads to clean," Moody added, putting on a desperately false aire of despair. "If I let you make the decisions, we'd both be doomed."  
  
"You're insinuating that I'm a troublemaker?" Lowe cried, in mock-indignation, putting a hand over his heart. "Sir, I am insulted!"  
  
The look James gave him was one of a wide grin and twinkling eyes. "I think you'll live, Harry."  
  
Harold chuckled, "I think so too."  
  
The rest day went by slowly enough, and Lowe turned in after a tedious shift of rounds, working the slip table, and chasing passenger complaints.  The thought settled into the back of his mind as he prepared for bed that perhaps being thrown into a strange run with people he didn't know had it's benefits, and the further thought that flitted across his conscious mind before sleep caught up to him was that Lightoller still looked slightly green in the face.  
_  
  
  
  
_


	2. Part 2

**_Friendship, Courage and Coffee_**  
The Titanic Trio  
Written by: Stephanie Watson  
Edited by: Chris Hodge and Karen Walker  
1998  
Revised: 2001  
  
  
  
_Part 2:_  
  
_"An orphan's curse would drag to Hell  
"A spirit from on high;  
"But oh! more horrible than that  
"Is a curse in a dead man's eye!"_  
-- Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner  
  
  
  
Lowe hadn't heard the door open, nor Boxhall pop in and tell him that the ship was sinking... he was too deep asleep at the time. Finally what woke him were the sounds of people shouting on deck and he got up, wondering what the commotion was all about. He threw his uniform on quickly and walked outside to see Lightoller working with Wilde on the Port side. Moody was also out and about, and Lowe walked over to try and talk to him, but neither of them could really say much with people interrupting them and noises of the winches interfering.   
  
When he finally managed to piece the entire story together, he thought perhaps that this was just a necessary precaution, and that it wouldn't end nearly so badly as everyone seemed to think.  Still, as he thought he decided to go back and get his revolver from his quarters, just in case he needed it.  
  
Without much else to do, Lowe crossed over to the Starboard side and helped Murdoch. The Scot looked worried under his cheery facade, and it was then that Harold realized something desperately serious was going on.  
  
"Women and children!" Murdoch called out, taking people left and right and loading them into No. 5 lifeboat. Lowe immediately helped him, concern filtering it's way through him. What could have happened? Finally he asked, and was told the situation. Now the concern turned to fear, and he worked a little more quickly. The people waiting were behaving well, all but for a tall man with a mustache who was waving his arms and shouting, "Lower away! Lower away! Lower away!" again and again.   
  
Lowe finally had all he could stand after he heard it a good four times, and growled up at him, "If you'll get the hell out of the way, I would be able to do something!" The man said nothing, only gave him a glowering look as Pitman worked in the boat and Murdoch worked a few feet away.   
  
Lowe glared back, his Welsh accent becoming more pronounced as he got frustrated. "You'd have me lower away quickly? You'd have me drown the lot of them!" he quite nearly snarled, a hard edge on his voice. The man didn't say anything else, and moved onto No. 3. Lowe watched for a brief moment, regretting a little his harsh words, but immediately went back to working. The boat was lowered with Pitman in command, and he moved on to the next one, with the man he had yelled at working quietly beside him. A rocket went up, and he watched it... this was very bad. Once that boat was away, he hurried back to the Port side. Moody was walking to the next boat as he caught up with him. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Loading and lowering," Moody replied, his face more serious that Lowe had ever seen it.  That didn't do much to ease the Fifth Officer's fears.  
  
"I say, there'll be hell to pay when this is all said and done, won't there?"  Harold forced a smile, trying to make conversation and hoping subconsciously that James would say something reassuring.  
  
Moody gave him a slight smile in turn. "Yes, and I hope we aren't the one's paying."  
  
"No..." Lowe said, pausing to call for women and children, then continued on to add, "That'll probably be the Captain."  
  
Moody nodded. "Well, we're only juniors. We'll both make it out fine, I think."  
  
Lowe nodded also. "Yes. We can get another ship to captain, eh?"  
  
Moody chuckled, "Probably going to be some broken down old hulk, after this mess."  
  
"You're right," Lowe said. "But at least it'll be ours," he added, and started loading. Moody went and worked on the boat next to him, and they didn't say anything else.   
  
Lightoller came along when the boat was a good way to filled, his eyes glancing around before settling on the younger man. "Go with this one, Mr. Lowe. Hang close to receive more passengers, would you?"  
  
"Yes sir," Lowe replied, and stayed in the boat as Lightoller ordered them to be lowered. He tossed a glance back up at Moody, still working with the other lifeboat, and the thought crossed his mind that they would have quite a story to tell whenever they got home. Then he noticed all of the men crowding the railing, glaring at the boat and trying to calculate the distance to jump. Harold pulled his revolver and shouted, "If any man tries to jump, I'll shoot them!" and fired a warning shot down the side of the ship. The men stayed back, and Lowe fired twice more at two more decks.   
  
The immediate threat of the men jumping ship was over, and he turned his sharp mind to the next problem... they were in danger of being lowered on by another boat with the tip to the bow.  Thinking quickly, Lowe had a few of the men in his boat cut the falls, and the women cried in fear as the boat dropped the remaining five feet to the water.  
  
Once they were in the water, and rowing, Lowe allowed himself to look back up. Moody had vanished, but Harold wasn't worried. Jimmy wouldn't have any trouble finding a boat to man. He was the youngest, and the most likely to make it off.  
  
  
There wasn't much to do but shout encouragement to the men and women rowing... Lowe kept an eye on the decks above. He immediately thought about the Captain, Wilde, and Murdoch. He knew then that Smith wouldn't leave the ship, and chances were, neither of the other two would either. Lightoller probably wouldn't make it, as a senior officer. He felt a sorrow rise into his chest... they were all good men, even if he hadn't known them long, and he hoped that something would prevent any lives being lost. Another ship that was said to be seen, or maybe she would stay afloat. He didn't hold much hope for the latter, though. He thought again about Wilde, who he had come to admire for his levelheaded sensibility, and Murdoch, who was usually so lighthearted and cheerful, and said a mental prayer for all of them.  
  
Part of him still refused to think that any lives would be lost. Someone was bound to get there soon enough and save all those aboard. He looked forward to asking James about what happened after he left when they were rescued.  
  
Thoughts like that occupied his mind, as the ship sank farther. Soon it became apparent that no one would be there soon enough for a rescue, but by then, Lowe had thrown himself completely to rowing when someone needed a rest, or steering. He tried to block out the noises from the ship, but it was hard. He could hear a gunshot here or there, and though it was so far off by then, he jumped at the sound. Those in his boat were crying out, or cursing, or praying, and he devoted his full attention to them. Maybe it was for his sanity, or maybe out of reason, but he had a duty to those trusted in his care, and was more than determined to fulfill it.  
  
He counted them off and encouraged them to keep rowing for the sake of warmth.  It gave them something to think about other than the people they had left behind, or the hundreds who would lose their lives on this clear morning.  He had to admire them for that much, for not shirking away from the oars, and wished he could divert his thoughts as well.  
  
The stern rose higher in the air, and higher still. She was going down fast now... the 'unsinkable _Titanic_'. Harold kept his eyes turned anywhere but the ship he had been so thrilled to be assigned to. There was no point in regrets now, just getting his duties done. Then the lights from the ship went out. He searched for a flashlight in the bottom of the boat, eventually finding one. He could hear the _Titanic_, and loud noises as the hull gave away. After four bangs that sounded like gunshots, he heard her no more, and realized that she was gone.   
  
That's when the screams came into earshot.  
  
There were more voices that Lowe could try to count, and he choked slightly at the thought of all of those people drowning in the water. He managed to direct his thoughts to organizing the lifeboats nearest to him, partly for practicality, and partly to focus on something other than the shrieks and pleas. "Pull in your oars and tie these two together," he yelled, over the voices around him. "Come on, I want all of the people in my boat to prepare to be transferred."   
  
Lashing the boats together took too much time, in his opinion, and Harold tried to keep the impatience from his voice as he shouted orders.  When they were finally floating in an island of wood, he started transferring his passengers into the other boats, redistributing them as evenly as he could.  
  
He found one man dressed as a woman, and literally threw him into another boat, then turned around. By the time he had everything organized, the voices out on the water were dying down fast... only a faint cry or two breaking the cold air. "All right men, we have to go back! I need sailors!"  
  
A few volunteered, along with a passenger or two. Lowe started back, the ocean silent now. There was no light, save for the faint light of the stars and his flashlight as they rowed towards the mass. He shined it from place to place, and as they got close enough, from body to body. He didn't allow himself to give up at the first several floating corpses, trying to batter back the inevitable that was slowly invading his mind.  Harold Lowe did not believe in the inevitable; the impossible situation.  There had to be someone left out there.  
  
He didn't feel the cold that numbed his nose and ears, and didn't feel the ache in his back from bending so much and checking bodies. Each one flashed, branded in his mind like some sort of horrid nightmare he couldn't escape from. "Why didn't I come back sooner?" he thought again and again. He found a child... a little boy laying in the water with a lifebelt on several sizes too large. For a long moment, he stared into the lifeless eyes, transfixed and paralyzed. Finally someone had the sense to shake him and they went back to searching.  
  
_"Just a boy... he's just a boy. Couldn't have been older than seven..."_  
  
They found a man still alive, but in terrible shape. Lowe helped get the enormous fellow on board, and they quickly tried to give him some air by loosening his collar and shirt, but to no avail. He died not long after. Lowe went back to looking though the people. A doll floated by, one button eye missing.  
  
_"Some child... must have dropped it getting into a lifeboat. Oh no, please let there be more alive... please don't do this."_  
  
Another man was pulled from the water, this one in better shape. Harold felt a surge of hope, but when he kept searching, there were precious few survivors to be found. One of the sailors in the boat broke down in tears, and Lowe had no heart to scold him when he stopped rowing and sobbed. After two more people were pulled into the boat, he searched for some time, but found no one else.  The inevitable had happened, and it was quite nearly enough to stun him.  
  
_"I could've saved more, had I not been a fool... I could have."_  
  
A baby's crib floated a few feet away, and Lowe turned away from it. He doubted there was anything in it, but the message it sent was clearer than the sky above him. He gasped for air... for some reason, he couldn't really breathe right. The cold began to get to him, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the gut-wrenching certainty that he could have done more... saved more, than he had.  
  
He managed to get the mast up, and turned his boat into a sailboat and making use of the breeze that had sprung up. From there, he rescued men from the overturned collapsible, including Bride and Lightoller, and then went and saved those from the sinking collapsible. He had long since gone numb... he kept going out of the inability to quit so close to rescue, but he felt nothing. _Carpathia_ appeared on the horizon, and he made good speed tacking towards her.  
  
_"Don't think. Don't think, just do your damned job..."_  
  
  
  
It seemed like eternity until they were on _Carpathia_, and Lowe went to the Bridge with the officers. He didn't stay long, though, only long enough to report who he was, and to hear Boxhall's broken statement of how many were lost. He tottered off, suddenly drained now that the adrenaline that had kept him going hard throughout the night wore off. He might have gone and looked for Moody, but people began coming up to him in high numbers, searching. Word had traveled fast that he had been the officer to go back.  
  
"My husband..."  
  
"My son..."  
  
"My brother..."  
  
"I... I can't say, ma'am," he managed, trying to get free of the crowd around him. They kept pressing forward, still pleading. Lowe didn't know what hurt worse by then; the fact that he hadn't been able to save them, or the fact that those women were all so hopeful.  He didn't want to be the one who broke their hearts, but in the back of his exhausted mind, he did blame himself.  
  
"He was wearing a hat..."  
  
"There was a little bear he was holding..."  
  
"She had a rag doll, with one button eye."  
  
Lowe stopped dead and looked at the woman who said that, a chill running through him. She was older, with her large eyes filled with hope and trust that he would be able to make it better. "I don't know," he forced himself to say. _"What have I done?"_ he asked himself silently.  
  
They kept pressing in on him, and many began to grow angry. His thoughts became so confused that he wasn't even quite understanding what they were saying to him... it had all turned into one long noise. He attended the service held for those who perished, and  many hours later, he finally had time alone to go lay down. Someone showed him to a room, and he dropped onto the bed in full uniform. Before his head even hit the pillow, he was dead to the world.  
  
  
_"Come on, Harry... you have to wake up."_  
  
Lowe tried to ignore Moody's voice as it drilled into his mind. It wasn't easy, and there was a pleading sound to his friend's voice that worried him. But he was still so tired and cold through.  
  
_"Please! Come on, don't do this... Harry, please wake up!"_  
  
"What is it, Jimmy?" Lowe finally moaned. He opened his eyes, and eventually got his vision to focus. Moody wasn't there. Some strange man with white hair was shaking him, and Lightoller was standing a few feet away. The older man smiled slightly. "You gave us a scare, Mr. Lowe. Some poor steward thought you were dead."  
  
Lowe nodded. He could barely move; he felt so weak and his head ached fiercely. "Where's Mr. Moody? Wasn't he just trying to wake me?"  
  
Lightoller looked stricken, and Lowe felt bad for a moment that he had given him The Coffee. Then the realization hit him. Lightoller must have saw this look and said, "Mr. Lowe..." his voice softened, "Harold... Mr. Moody went down with the ship. I'm sorry."  
  
Lowe didn't believe it at first. Why, Moody had just been trying to wake him up a moment ago. He had heard it as clearly as can be. But the look on Lightoller's face spoke volumes; he meant it. Grinding his teeth together, he tried to deny it with everything he had.  He was senior to James... he wasn't supposed to make it off before the younger officer.  
  
Lightoller sat beside him on the bed, his eyes so full of honest regret that Lowe knew then that his best friend was gone, and the cruel slam of knowledge cut deep. "Take it easy," Lightoller said, pushing him back when he made an attempt to get up. "We don't need to lose you too, and we thought we might have."  
  
"Captain Rostron, Mr. Ismay, and all of the officers have been here to look in on you," the white-haired man commented, as though he thought that would somehow cheer Harold from the thoughts of Moody being gone.  
  
"Who else didn't make it?" Lowe asked after a moment, not really wanting to know.  
  
"The Captain, Wilde, and Murdoch."  
  
Lowe flinched, but he could already feel exhaustion creep back into him. Lightoller threw another blanket over him, and Harold just realized that someone had taken his jacket and boots, and loosened his collar. "How long have I been asleep?" he managed, fighting back the lead force that was pushing his eyelids down.  
  
"Near a day," Lightoller said. "We tried to wake you a few times, but you haven't so much as moved a muscle."  
  
Lowe nodded very slightly. The man that was there took Lightoller aside and spoke quietly to him, but by then, Lowe was far beyond hearing.  
  
  
  
New York was dark with rain, and bitter cold to the bone... at least to Harold Lowe. He couldn't shake the halfway numb feeling he had, and couldn't quite get over how tired he felt even now. Someone had said "Mentally exhausted", but the phrase meant little to him. He went to a hotel, and tossed the suit he had borrowed onto a chair. Now he was required to testify at a US Senate Hearing. All he could really think was that he wanted to go home. Maybe back to his home town and family.    
  
Maybe if he did, he could shake the miserable feeling of hollow pain.  
  
He shivered again, changing into his night clothes and laying down in the huge, soft bed. It was luxury beyond belief to Lowe, who had slept anywhere between the stateroom on _Carpathia_ to under a bridge once when he had no where else to go. The finery was definitely something he could get used to. He fell asleep, just barely able to reach over and turn the light off.  
  
  
  
_The boat again... it swayed slightly with the movement of the oars, and he peered into the blackness, searching, ever searching. A wail came from the water and he shone his light that way, but when he looked, there was nothing alive. Just the body of a dead girl. Cries began all through the darkness, starting off softly and getting louder with each moment. But every time he looked, they were dead. All dead, and staring with a look of bitter accusation. "You could have come back sooner... we could still be alive," he heard a far off voice say.  
  
"Captain Lowe and Chief Moody."  
  
The laughter echoed through the air, each word cutting Lowe like a knife to his heart. Maybe it was because James had been the closest thing he had ever had to a best friend, or maybe it was because he might have been able to do something.  
  
"It should have been me!" Lowe cried out, wishing with everything in him that there were some way to go back and switch places with Moody. "It should have been me..." he repeated, in a broken whisper.  
  
"If you don't have anywhere else to go, you can always spend Christmas and that with my family..." he heard Jimmy say again. Why did he have to stay there? Why didn't he go when they told him to?  He had his whole life ahead of him; a promising career, a loving family, and that damned good-humor that won Harold over to begin with.  He should have left, should have had a chance, but he hadn't.  Why?  
  
"He was braver than I was," Lowe answered his own unbidden question.  
  
The voices started wailing again, louder than ever. Lowe covered his ears, wincing. He looked around for where those voices were coming from, but was met with only the sight of dead bodies. He turned away and was back on Titanic again. Moody and Wilde were cutting the ropes still holding one collapsible. He watched, trying to help but unable to move, as they were both pulled under the water and never surfaced again._  
  
  
  
"AHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Lowe yelled, sitting up straight in bed. His chest heaved as he gasped for air in the blackness of the room, and sweat ran down the sides of his face. Finally the shock of it wore off, and alone, he buried his face in the pillow and sobbed.  He was too old at that point to hide from death, and still too young to face it.  
  
Eventually he got up and turned the light on, frantically grabbing some of the hotel stationary and a pen, and started writing a letter to Moody's family. Tears were still running unchecked down his face, and he could barely see to write, but he kept writing anyway. There were 3 pages when he finally finished it, and he sealed it into an envelope. He didn't know the address, but figured that someone would. Then, slowly calming down, he wrote to his own family...  
  
_"I'm sorry... Mum, Dad, I'm so sorry..."_  
  
Eventually his mind cleared somewhat, and he waited until morning. He found out Moody's address from Lightoller, who was also writing to his family, and both letters were sent out.  
  
  
Through the Senate hearings, and through the media and all of the things that needed to be answered, Lowe managed to make it seem as though he was as calm and capable as they came. And he was. He derived a certain pleasure of running Senator Smith mad... the man knew so little about ship life that Lowe couldn't help it. Harold was slowly but surely getting back to normal. But he still woke up every night, no matter what lengths he went to in order to exhaust himself beyond dreams. Over and over he found himself on _Titanic_, or on that lifeboat. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get away from it. Fifteen hundred people were dead, Moody was gone, and he had lived. It was wrong, but it was too late to change it.  
  
When all was said and done and he was allowed to go home, to whatever home he could find, he had the Italian Embassy on his back about his testimony and was still facing another hearing back in England. There came a day, somewhat later on, when Lightoller came to him and read a part in a letter from Moody's parents:  
  
_"I'm very glad that Mr. Lowe wrote to us... and that James had a good friend he could talk to. Please tell him that we would like it if he came and visited us someday..."_  
  
If nothing else, that helped Lowe a little bit. He still felt awful about the whole ordeal, but slowly it was getting easier to face each day. Then another letter came shortly after that one, and it put Harold in tears all over again.  
  
_"Come home, son..."_  
  
  
  
_"The other was a softer voice,  
"As soft as honey-dew:  
"Quoth he, "The man hath penance done,  
"And penance more will do." _  
--Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner  
  
  
- --------- - --  
  
_Notes: Yes, I do have permission to post this, and I did change the author, because I know for the sake of God that Steff did more on this story than I did. Of course, this has to be one of my favorite stories ever, if not my favorite, and I still cry every time I read it. Not only do I cry, though, but I think I cry progressively more each time. It's attachment, I suppose, and I think that the three of us have become quite attached to not only Harry and James, but all of the officers of the Titanic, and many of the historical figures. So, we would greatly appreciate any comments you might have, and I'll just say "All hail the Mistress Watson! I bow to your amazing writing and hope to be half as good some day."  
_


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